Chapter 4 – Something Blue

Eric sat idly refusing offer upon offer of beckoning strippers as they passed him and the sleeping Sookie in the hallway while continuing to guard the door. He didn’t want to think too much as to why he continued to sit there dutifully when he had sent them all to this place for just such an opportunity. He could easily direct the eager women into the private room for a pleasant wake up call, from the looks of it they wouldn’t even require any payment of sorts, and he would prove Jason Stackhouse would be the adulterous type he assumed him to be. Not that fidelity mattered one bit to Pam, but it did in all contracts of the Supernatural, especially to the Fae who mated like swans once they were bound, archaic as they may be it provided a guarantee of loyalty to an alliance that was difficult to consolidate otherwise.

“Hey,” Sookie whispered, interrupting his thoughts. “What time is it?”

“Late,” he shrugged.

She scowled at him, she never was at her best when just awake after all, before glancing at her phone. “Help me get them in the limo?” she requested with a fluttering of her heavy lashes.

“Do it yourself,” he replied, rather tired of being her lackey for the night, and more gratingly, complying with little thought up to now. “Or better yet, ask Hoyt,” he goaded before emphasising, “he’s sweet.”

“At least I’m trying to be nice,” she hissed and then got up with a huff.

“If this is you trying,” he scoffed while automatically following her indignant steps at close distance. “Then-”

“Then, what?” she demanded hotly with a sudden spin on her heels, staring him down with eyes that could scorch him from the inside out. “Just say it!” She poked his chest, invading his personal space for good measure, breathing heavily.

“Then I don’t want to know you when you’re actually nice,” he spoke coolly, his head lowering intimidatingly close to hers, faces at millimetres apart.

“I hate you!” she cried out, but her cry of indignance was cut off with a strong hand that wrapped around her neck and shoved her lips into his. Her legs almost buckled under the sudden assault, and she couldn’t help but whimper with confusion till she found herself returning the kiss. She always did wonder if a gay man would kiss differently.

“Ditto,” he replied when he released her. As if nothing had happened between them, he turned his back on her, walked down the dimly lit hall with the illest ease, his presence only truly noticeable by the interruption of the pattern of downlighters as he passed under each one, momentarily stealing their light.

“Fucking asshole.”

His arm obscured his face from view while the white sheet covered the bare minimum of his bottom half. It made him look every bit the fallen angel with a halo of perfectly tousled blonde hair that surrounded him on the plush pillow. Despite the alluring imagery before her, Sookie knew better; she was in fact admiring the devil in disguise, only he would choose the prominent figurine of an Adonis.

“Wake up!” she demanded with a good shove to the obstructing arm while straddling his chest.

“It’s not like you need it,” she snorted from her perched position atop him.

“True,” he grinned with a grating smugness, and it really was only on account of the favour that she didn’t proceed to assault him a second time. “How did you get in here?”

“Faeries,” she answered as if he were especially dim, “pop.”

“Yes,” he replied with a tiny scowl. “Still, it is considered rude to simply ‘pop’ into one’s private space.”

Sookie rolled her eyes before moving off his chest, as if she didn’t know that! “I’m done with being proper, polite, and demure.”

“How about being a prude?” he questioned with an accusatory arch to his brow that bought little of her newfound convictions and before she could answer, he tested the theory by simply removing the sheet that covered his lower half.

“Oh gross!” she shrieked, using her hands to cover her eyes even though she couldn’t help but peek through the web of her fingers. “Why is that up?!”

“It’s morning,” he shrugged. “There was a warm body on top of me.”

“I’m your cousin!”

“So?”

“Argh! Never mind! I don’t want to know,” she shrieked. “I need you to seduce Eric Northman so he’ll stop pestering me.”

“I would do this why?” Claude asked from his new position at the mirror, examining each and every invisible pore and testing the theory that he, in fact, had no necessity for beauty sleeps.

“Because you’re my cousin!” she cried out in exasperation.

“He better be good looking.”

“That’s part of the problem,” she mumbled to herself, but Claude couldn’t help but laugh incessantly. Of course, he knew Eric Northman was very good looking and he also knew there wasn’t a gay thing about one Eric Northman except that it was a great injustice that he wasn’t. It was, however, rather fun to see his prim and proper cousin unravel in her interaction with the walking and talking Nordic sex god.

“It’s not funny!”

“Oh, but it is, dear cousin. Now tell Uncle Claude what did the mean vampire do to you.”

“One, you’re not my uncle, two, he kissed me! Three, why is that still up?”

“You’re so stimulating,” he leered, making her deeply uncomfortable and all the more convinced that Claude and Eric were made for each other. Which was a good thing, right? That pit in her stomach thing was relief, right?

“Sookie!”

“Huh,” she answered rather dumbly, even by her own admittance, before requesting Claude repeat what he had said previously.

“I said, if you wish to see how this thing goes down,” he explained with a demonstrative flourish of the erect and rather proud member that had continued to offend her throughout the entire conversation, “you better ‘pop’ yourself elsewhere.”

“Right,” she whispered with reddened cheeks. “So you’ll do it?”

“Masturbate? I thought that part was clear.”

“No!” she cried out, mortified and wondering which shade of red was left to colour her further. “I meant seduce that pesky vampire.”

“Sure,” he shrugged before that calculated look that faeries knew to wear so impeccably well appeared while she prepared to pop away. “It’ll cost you of course,” he grinned. “Dearly.”

Sookie was deadly tired, so deadly tired she had to chuckle at that terrible pun causing the sales assistant to look at her curiously. Not that that bothered her at this point in life, most people thought she was insane anyhow, so she figured she may as well embrace it, which meant rather than bucking up and facing the possibility of whether or not her Gran had slept in their room that night. She had avoided the vicinity of her room at all costs, forced to endure Jason and his many groomsmen’s terrible jokes till they passed out in various rooms on and over pieces of furniture of the sumptuous suite and rather than doing the same, she was shopping in boutiques she’d never venture in otherwise.

She needed something not red. Definitely not red, blue, blue was good.

It had annoyed her greatly how she felt when she had first slipped into that red dress. More frustrating was how appreciative Eric had seemed of it, using it as another intricate ploy to mess with her mind. The garment felt sullied now and she finally came to understand the morning walk of shame, though hers was an entirely different type of shame. God, how she hated him for this.

With little regard for the price attached to the garment, she handed over the emergency credit card Niall had once given her, wrapping the red dress neatly into the bag provided by the overly eager sales assistant who recognised a weary customer with cash to spare in seconds and continued to push more product her way. Somewhere her polite and courteous nature resurfaced and she managed to pull herself together with no further damage to the credit card. Once outside, she stood still by a garbage can to rid herself of the memories of last night by discarding the red dress, but in the end couldn’t find it in herself to do it. She steeled herself, finding some of that last confidence with the knowledge that Eric Northman would soon be singing a different tune when he was eventually caught out by her. She’d play the game for his sake, but she’d definitely win.

Eric should have fucked and drained every stripper the previous night, instead he had skulked off with his tail between his legs like a fucking puppy because of that pesky little faerie. The worst part was that she didn’t seem to be going away and when she was out of his physical space, she continued to occupy his mind. Niall had seen to that, what the old faerie’s next scheme was remained unsure, but undoubtedly there was one and surely it spelled out more madness and destruction from the royal faery family, and inevitably with all things concerning Pam, he’d end up paying the bill.

Well, at least the penthouse that was to be handed over to the Brigants as part of the dowry looked better after his early morning ‘redecorating’. Eric was childishly pleased with the state of the penthouse in its total disarray. A simple exchange of the words ‘I do’ later that night and the Brigants would be in possession of one giant mess, satisfyingly their giant mess. He could hardly wait for that pesky co-op board to take them to task. Served them right, the fucking faeries, especially that Sookie and her shiny blonde hair, not to mention the tits. He loathed her tits, they made it impossible to appreciate any others, despite the fact they were literally offered up bare and willing to him last night. He fucking liked tits!

Eric was happy there wasn’t a mirror left to smash because then he might actually have to face his own reflection and see the pathetic excuse of a vampire he’d become from the moment he planted his lips on Miss Tits’ in that little red dress. Fuck, it was glorious! Gloriously wrong that is. It really was all her fault, especially those tits.

“What are you doing here?” Eric demanded when he found Tits, eh Sookie, slumped over on a bar stool in the hotel bar.

“Stupid vampire,” she mumbled back while wiping away at the drool that had started to pool at the corner of her mouth. “Stupid kissy vampire. Go away!”

He growled in warning, not at all pleased by leaving her, considering the hovering Breathers that seemed to have been encroaching in on her until he had firmly displayed his flag of fangs, scaring them off. Till he left that is.

“Sookie!”

“Leave me alone,” she whined, which he ignored in favour of picking up her tired and slightly inebriated body before slinging her over his shoulder.

“The wedding is in an hour,” he gruffed. “You will NOT be the one to rain on my Pam’s parade. What room are you in?”

“NO! Not my room! I don’t want to go to my room,” she whined while trying to squirm out of his hold as they crossed the expansive lobby. “I know! Take me to Claude.”

“Who the fuck is Claude?” he growled out, displeased with the thought of any ‘Claude’ in relation to Sookie instantly. Not that he cared in the least.

“You’ll like him,” she cooed, finally able to escape his grasp over his shoulder and shimmying her body over his hard chest in the process, her feet feeling foreign to her as they finally touched the floor of the elevator, forcing her into that comfortable embrace again.

Does he have tits?

“What?”

He swallowed audibly, not willing to let on that he had just expressed that particular thought out loud. “Nothing,” he mumbled before impatiently sweeping her off her feet again, bridal style, on account of the interfering tits that turned his brain to mush with every simmer of contact.

“You’d be surprised how many men are attracted to men with tits,” she mused nonsensically to the ceiling before adding, “women too.”

“I have no interest in contradicting body parts,” he replied coolly.

“Not judging,” she smiled up mischievously. “We like what we like.”

“I like tits.”

“Well, Claude doesn’t have any,” she answered with a small pout. “Although he’s good with the magicks, I’m sure he can conjure up some for a special night.”

“Intriguing,” he replied sardonically, but it had decidedly gone unnoticed by her as she was already eagerly knocking on Claude’s door with wild abandon, her previous fatigue suddenly gone.

“Who might you be?” Claude purred while leaning into the doorframe.

“Claude, Eric,” Sookie introduced with a huge grin where Claude was sporting a knowing one, which usually boded well. “Eric, Claude.”

The formal nod was exchanged between the two Supernaturals and Sookie couldn’t help but huff at the ridiculous display. This being drunk thing was quite liberating after all.

“Make her not drunk,” Eric demanded, shoving Sookie in his direction.

Claude shrugged momentarily while backing into the room. “Your mess, you clean it. Bathroom’s over there.”

Eric wanted to curse out that this mess was Sookie’s own making, but there were only so many minutes in an hour, and Pam would have his head if any blemish were to ruin her perfect wedding. Annoyed, he stepped in while Claude continued to overtly ogle him from every angle. “Just toss her in the tub and if you need anything cleaning,” he leered with a hint of tongue. “I’ll be happy to help.”

A warning growl was emitted before he unceremoniously let Sookie fall into the tub with a curse word or two as a torrential rain of cold water submerged along with the cries of protest while his firm hand held her in place, face spluttering against the liquid onslaught. He had to grin at that, for an extended period of time, until his natural enemies came to the surface again, pointy and hard. Fucking tits.

“I need something from Claude,” he offered as a poor excuse not to further drool over said enemies that were presenting themselves through the thin fabric of her dress, not to mention the jiggling movements they were making due to her body’s fight against his hold. The door was shut on her with little aplomb, and despite the extreme cold that had reduced her to shivers, she wore the biggest grin since the news of her brother’s nuptials.

“Like candy from a baby,” Sookie whispered out at her mirror’s image while towelling off the cold water. She carefully peeked into the room and saw all was going to plan as Claude was on his path of seduction from which no living man, straight or not, could ever veer. A snigger and a ‘pop’ later she was back in her room, relieved to find her Gran there before she set to get ready for the night ahead. After a brief and decidedly warm shower, she slipped into something red. It had nothing to do with the fact that blue dress was the same shade as a certain Viking vampire’s eyes. Nothing whatsoever.

This is a riot! “Stupid, kissy vampire,” just slayed me. I’m also going to admit, I’d take the infuriatingly stupid, kissy vampire, who might be gay, over any of my past kissers in a vampire’s blink of the eye.